July 16th: First Impressions for Realz

Yesterday I slept through completely, so today is the actual beginning of trying to figure out how to do everything.

I feel like a child again, that’s how unknown everything is to me. I get ready in a kind of haze. Luckily I have my own bathroom, and luckily in said private bathroom, I have a western toilet. Something you might not know about India; squatting toilets are normal, though they aren't as bad as someone who’s not accustomed to them might think. My family was kind enough to give me two rolls of toilet paper. Another thing you might not have known about India, they use water, and not toilet paper. I won’t get into the details, but this is something that I feel is going to be a big culture shock for me. (Side note, I packed six rolls and three packets of baby wipes with me, so I’ll be set for a while)

Today, Mahek is showing me around Yavatmal. We have our own driver; that’s also common in India, to have servants and maids. My family has a driver, and two maids. Anyway, Mahek shows me the main strip. Already I am overwhelmed by how different everything is. The buildings are all made of cement and have black grime covering them from years and years of monsoon rains. The sidewalk is just a dirt road that it doesn't stop motorcycles, rickshaws, cars, trucks etc. from driving on it. There are piles of garbage everywhere, there are no garbage cans anywhere. The garbage system here is that someone sweeps the garbage into a pile, and then burns the pile of garbage. This is great for the environment!

Is mai house

Some building that I took a picture of when no one was looking at me.

The smell is not like Canada. You don’t realize what fresh air smells like until you don’t inhale it every day. It smells mainly of body odour, burning garbage and gasoline. Not curry and fecal matter, so let’s get that stereotype out of the way.

People just stare at me. I am half Indian through both of my parents but they can tell I'm a foreigner without me opening my mouth. I guess it doesn't help that I am wearing a skirt. My host parents said it was acceptable to wear my flowy, down-to-my-knees skirt, but the girls my age are either wearing jeans and a modest T-shirt, or traditional salwaar kamiz and the women wear the salwaar suits or saris. (Inner Monologue: Alright, lesson 1: Don't wear skirts if you want to fit in.)

Iz me in a salwaar suit.

Today I notice the people as well. I've only been the majority once before when I visited Trinidad and Tobago for vacation to see family. Since a young age, I understood that I looked different from most people because I’m African, Chinese, Indian, Jamaican, Trinidadian mixed. But here, everyone is Indian - more importantly not white - just like me. Although I look similar to everyone, I still stand out as the foreigner.


While I’m walking down the street, I am focusing on so many things. I have to watch out for traffic, animals and people coming my way, while trying to still look around at my new world, WHILE trying to listen to what my host sister says to me over the noise of rickety automobiles and honking. So much noise. Even last night, my fan makes rhythmic clicks over constant animal chirping which is another thing that kept me awake.


I listen to the language around me. India is a crazy place for language. There are 23 recognized language in India. English and Hindi are the official languages, and most states have their own regional language. In my state of Maharashtra the regional language is Marathi, though I cannot tell the different between it and Hindi. When people speak, sometimes they’ll slip into English. India was a British colony, and one of the long lasting effects of their rule was English. Most higher class people speak English that I can understand, although it’s different than my English. It’s a mixture of Hindi and English; Hinglish. The Indian accent is similar to the Australian accent in the sense that it could be its’ own language.


After showing me where to buy toiletries, my host dad’s store, the newspaper factory, and fabric store, we get home and relax. By the time the day ends, dust is sticking to my sweaty skin and I have so many mosquito bites. I have taken in so much new information. I can’t process it all. I tried, and even now with my re-write, I don’t think I did it any justice.